It was January and Pistol was eight months old. "I need to figure out a way to wean him," I had told Doris. Doris was a co-worker of mine who also owned horses. Although she had not spent time around a weanling. She listened with interest when I shared with her the many challenges I faced raising a colt. Doris suggested I borrow her horse panels. I eagerly accepted her offer and quickly came up with a plan. I would set up a small corral in the yard and keep Lady in it for a couple weeks, or until I felt Pistol was weaned. The panels were delivered a weeek later.
After unloading the awkward unwieldy bundle, my son, Andy, and I each grabbed an end of the biggest panel. We guessed (neither of us having experience or instructions) that we should start with the panel that had the gate on it. With Andy at one end and I on the other, we pushed the large panel up off the ground, with the gate swinging back and forth; unsecured until the adjoining panel was attached. We stood there quietly for a minute contemplating our next move.
Pistol was watching and standing close by. Pistol was always there, where ever anyone was, there was Pistol. He would look at, smell and taste every new thing, including people and animals. However, his next more, I would have never anticipated.
As soon as Pistol saw the standing panel he walked up to it and put his head through the top two pipes, pushing so hard that it abruptly pulled out of my hands. My son held on a few seconds longer. Pistol continued pushing forward until the top panel was resting on the back of his neck and the middle panel was pressed across his chest. He then panicked and took off running. The legs of the panel were digging into the ground, which didn't seem to slow him down. The gate was swinging violently back and forth hitting him from his front left hoof up to top of his leg. He ran about 30 yards, when suddenly, he stopped. It appeared that it suddenly occurred to him how to get out of that predicament, because he then turned his head sideways and pulled it out. The panel fell back against him. He backed away from it and ran to his mom.
After unloading the awkward unwieldy bundle, my son, Andy, and I each grabbed an end of the biggest panel. We guessed (neither of us having experience or instructions) that we should start with the panel that had the gate on it. With Andy at one end and I on the other, we pushed the large panel up off the ground, with the gate swinging back and forth; unsecured until the adjoining panel was attached. We stood there quietly for a minute contemplating our next move.
Pistol was watching and standing close by. Pistol was always there, where ever anyone was, there was Pistol. He would look at, smell and taste every new thing, including people and animals. However, his next more, I would have never anticipated.
As soon as Pistol saw the standing panel he walked up to it and put his head through the top two pipes, pushing so hard that it abruptly pulled out of my hands. My son held on a few seconds longer. Pistol continued pushing forward until the top panel was resting on the back of his neck and the middle panel was pressed across his chest. He then panicked and took off running. The legs of the panel were digging into the ground, which didn't seem to slow him down. The gate was swinging violently back and forth hitting him from his front left hoof up to top of his leg. He ran about 30 yards, when suddenly, he stopped. It appeared that it suddenly occurred to him how to get out of that predicament, because he then turned his head sideways and pulled it out. The panel fell back against him. He backed away from it and ran to his mom.
"He looks like he is fine," I told Andy, trying to calm his nerves and mine. We were both shaking and upset. Andy said angrily, "I hate that stupid horse!" I knew that wasn't true. But, Pistol had proven to be quite a pain and the "pain" was just beginning.
In the meantime, Pistol had found his mom and was nursing, which he does, I have observed, not only to fill his belly, but to feel safe and calm himself when something scares or upsets him.
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